


Ma, I Wet My Sleeping Bag

by newtisgood (gurajiorasu)



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gurajiorasu/pseuds/newtisgood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Greenie got his sleeping bag wet? Go to Newt. Frypan running out of salt? Go to Newt. Winston angsting between pig and sheep? Go to Newt. Gally in the mood for some bitching? Leave it to Newt. And Alby? Well, Alby always goes to Newt,” Minho put unnecessary pressure to the last one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ma, I Wet My Sleeping Bag

**Author's Note:**

> Set on the greenie-Chuck era.

“Shank,” Newt beamed towards Minho as he made his way across the Glade, walking down to a fairly secluded space near the gate and dropping his butt next to the runner.

Minho took a short glance towards Newt and continued spreading his sleeping bag on the ground. He grinned as he noticed that Newt got nothing but a thin sheet on his hand, “What? Greenie klunked his sleeping bag again?”

Newt shrugged with a grin on his face. He put down the sheet and lay on it, putting his arms behind his head and crossing his bad leg on top of his good one. His eyes shot straight to the dark blue sky and he looked like he’s settled for the night.

Well, he was.

“You don’t have to give yours to the kid, you know,” Minho mumbled, looking nonchalant about the subject, “He wet it, he deals with it. End of story.”

“Oh, slim it, Minho,” Newt groaned, his eyes tracing God-knows-what constellation that looked sickeningly artificial up in the sky, “Boy’s still a kid. Being thrown to a square lot filled with boys is pretty klunk-worthy, y’ know?”

“Pretty sure I know,” Minho shot.

“But you were not as baby as Chuck,” Newt pointed out, “He got this harder, that shank.”

Minho let his brain absorb it for a while then he shrugged. While getting himself into the sleeping bag, he said, “Well, can’t give my sleeping bag to you.” It came out flat but Minho swore he felt bad. If only he didn’t have to run the next day, he’d give it to Newt in a beat.

Newt turned his head to Minho, smiling, “Good that. Can’t afford our runner run with snot all over his nose, right?”

“Yeah,” Minho, who had comfortably settled inside his sleeping bag, reached for Newt and pulled him closer, “Who knows, snot might be the best bait for grievers.”

“Ah, yes. Makes sense,” Newt let Minho haul him into the confinement of the runner’s sturdy arms. He chuckled when his head bumped to Minho’s chin and they struggled to make it work somehow.

They ended up as a weird entanglement of limbs. Minho’s arms jutted out from the sleeping bag and enveloped Newt’s slighter body while Newt’s legs sneaked under Minho’s to seek for warmth. It was absurd and definitely not the most comfortable arrangement, but they’re warm and they’re happy about it.

Minutes passed and their breaths evened out. Minho didn’t ask why Newt didn’t sleep inside the Homestead since it’s definitely warmer there, and Newt was glad that he didn’t. They both preferred this, despite everything. If anything, Minho was a bit grateful to Chuck for wetting his sleeping bag. Again.

“No wonder they’ve been calling you the Glade Mother,” Minho said to Newt’s blonde hair somewhere between awake and asleep.

“Hm?”

“Greenie got his sleeping bag wet? Go to Newt. Frypan running out of salt? Go to Newt. Winston angsting between pig and sheep? Go to Newt. Gally in the mood for some bitching? Leave it to Newt. And Alby? Well, Alby _always_ goes to Newt,” Minho put unnecessary pressure to the last one.

“Aw, jealous much? Gonna cry because Alby gets to be the father?” Newt looked up and smirked.

Minho guffawed until his eyes were nothing but two arching lines, “Keep dreaming, boy. He doesn’t get to be seen off every morning and to be waited for every shucking night. _I_ am the father, you hear me? Alby’s as good as an old grandpa. Angry and shucking loud, bossing around night and day. Yeah, he’s the Glade Grandpa, for sure.”

Newt raised one of his eyebrows. His smile was glinting with wicked light as he said, “Don’t know you love me so much that you want to be paired up with me that bad, Min.”

“Shut up,” Minho’s face turned a nice shade of light red in an instance and he mock-strangled Newt until Newt was breathless and gasping for air.

Newt put his palms on Minho’s mouth shortly after, saying that the kids need to sleep and that the parents shouldn’t be so shucking loud because it’s grandpa’s job.

Minho just rolled his eyes and shut Newt up with a peck on the lips, saying that it’s what parents do; kissing.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Newt woke up to the sound of everybody chatting and working. He cracked his eyes open and squinted when he couldn’t see any light.

A sleeping bag was thrown all over him from head to toe like he was a bloody corpse.

So that’s why he slept in.

Newt sat up disoriented and with a tousled hair. He had to admit, it was the best sleep he had in the last... two years. Well, probably he was exaggerating but it surely felt like it.

Newt folded the sleeping bag while answering greetings from Gladers passing by. He checked his watch after he was done with his task. The runners had gone for two hours, at least. To that, Newt groaned.

Minho. That shuck face.

Newt stood up while cursing under his breath, not really amused by the fact that he didn’t see the runners go – that he didn’t get to cast some good luck spells that he always chanted in his mind whenever he watched Minho’s back disappeared inside the maze.

Then, a folded paper fell from the bundle of sleeping bag.

Newt squinted. It was the kind of paper that the runners brought with them when they’re entering the maze. Newt took it, already aware of who the culprit behind this note was.

Inside it, Newt could identify the hasty handwriting.

 

_Slim it. The Glade Mother deserves some beauty sleep.  
Take care of the kids while I’m out for work, honey. Don’t worry, I won’t let the grievers seduce me._

_Love,  
Your Handsome Min (The Glade Father, if you would)_

_PS: Grandpa’s a bit cranky today. Good luck._

 

Newt gaped for a full minute at that, not believing that he was in love with such a moron. Faintly, he could hear that Alby was looking for him.

“Newt, hey!” Alby reached Newt faster than Newt predicted he would.

Newt folded the paper and kept it in his pocket, “Yes?”

“Do you know that Gally’s–” Alby stopped as soon as he had a good look on Newt’s face, “What’s with the smile? You look creepy.”

“Nothing,” Newt kept smiling. He walked ahead of Alby and let Alby chased him. Then, “Do you think Frypan has some aprons around?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Thought that shank would be thrilled to see the Glade Mother in apron, wouldn’t he?” Newt mumbled more to himself. Playful smile bloomed across his face. Oh, he could already imagined it, how Minho would laugh his ass off the moment his eyes met Newt in apron, acting cute and fidgety and everything that Newt believed he was not. This was going to be hilarious.

“What?” Alby scrunched his face, “Newt? You sound like you got klunk for your head.”

“Every good mother wears apron, Alby,” Newt just shrugged and left Alby alone.

Apron. He needed an apron.


End file.
